Fool to Believe
by trisanamcgraw
Summary: A companion piece to Silver Fire’s "How You Remind Me," this fic adds on to the theory of how Raoul got his drinking problem. This fic picks up directly where Silver Fire's fic left off.


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Author's Note: Taking a decidedly darker turn from Raoul/Buri fluff, I've decided to write a ficlet about Raoul primarily, and his drinking problem (minor spoiler for SQUIRE). It was actually inspired by my pal Silver Fire's songfic "How You Remind Me." She wants my readers (and hers) to know that she had nothing to do with this besides granting permission, and Anara and He' belong to her. As always, Raoul and the rest of our beloved Tortallans belong to the creative genius of Tamora Pierce.

Dedicated to my pal and fellow fic writer Silver Fire. Rock on with the Raoul angst!

Fool to Believe

By Trisana McGraw

****

Before the fic, however, I'd like to share some quotes that inspired this dark little piece.

__

"Juice, water – no liquor." He [Raoul] smiled crookedly. "It turns me into someone I don't like."

-- **Squire**

__

He had broken things; broken people. He did not like to remember that day.

-- **How You Remind Me**, by Silver Fire

__

"Would Raoul be an angry drunk or a naked drunk?"

-- (I would prefer naked drunk, but as the fic goes . . .) **Paraphrased from a discussion held on sheroescentral.com**

And finally, the quote that inspired my nifty title, from one of my absolute favorite movies to boot:

__

"I was a fool to believe

A fool to believe

It all ends today

Yes it all ends

Today

Today's the day when dreaming ends."

--**Moulin Rouge!**

-=-=-=-=-

Baron George Cooper of Pirate's Swoop – though he didn't prefer to bother with titles – leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "Is that the one?"

His correspondent, a young, greasy-haired man temporarily filling in for the recently abandoned job as bartender nodded, his dark eyes flicking from the man at the counter to the former king of thieves. "That's `im, all right."

George nodded and straightened from his position against the doorway. He walked into the main eating area of the Dancing Dove, his steps silent, casting a casual eye around the empty room. It was late at night, and George could count on two hands the number of people present at the inn. At best, some soldiers were spending time with "lady companions" in the upstairs rooms, and no one but George, the bartender, and one of George's wife's closest friends remained at the dimly lit bar.

George could sense trouble even before he reached the bar (he could also smell a strong odor of alcohol, and that was without his Sight), and he knew that something was horribly wrong.

-=-=-=-=-

George Cooper's eyes were on Raoul of Goldenlake, and the big knight couldn't have cared less. He forbid himself to think about his friends, any of them, or even the date or time. The only thing he could focus his mind on was the tall, cold bottle standing in front of him, drained of its precious dark liquid. That alcohol was what kept him numb and detached from his present situation. If he allowed himself to reenter the human world, the gnawing despair just might swallow him up. 

It was better to be lost in a hazy, undetermined reality, where there were no friends or lovers or secret affairs. Things were so simple here that it almost made Raoul cry. Gods, if only life could be like this.

But it wasn't. Life was a horrible, painful mass of confusion, anger, sadness – so much emotion. Too much emotion for one person to handle. If a man could feel only numb, he wouldn't have to endure these ordeals in order to live a good life. No feeling was exactly what Raoul was aiming for.

Raoul tossed aside the empty bottle without registering the sudden noise it made as it shattered against the wall. He yanked another, identical bottle toward him and twisted off the top and brought it to his lips. He drank greedily, wishing fervently for the bitter, strong liquid to bring him back to his unemotional state.

Gods, it was foul. It didn't taste like anything; it stung his lips and burned his throat. It became a cool fog that obscured his senses and his thoughts. It was acid.

It was also the only comfort he had right now, and that was all he needed.

Raoul had gulped down the contents of that bottle and was mechanically reaching for another when a large, brown hand appeared between his and the tall, glass bottle. Soon a face joined the hand, but the features swam before Raoul's eyes and he couldn't focus. He finally recognized the stranger by his voice, a cool, easy tone filled with unmistakable concern.

"What do you think you're doing, sir knight?"

  
Raoul's black eyes narrowed in irritation, and he shoved George's hand aside and grabbed the bottle before he could be stopped. He struggled to yank it open, but his fingers wouldn't function correctly.

George gently but firmly removed the bottle from Raoul's shaking fingers and set it aside. "I asked what you were doing, Sir Raoul," he repeated, his voice now steely.

"None . . . of your . . . business," Raoul slurred, his tongue so thick he could barely get the words out. He blinked several times at the shadowy figure of George, unable to focus on the Rogue's face. Again, he reached for the bottle that would drench the grief and anger that welled in his gut, and again George pushed his hand aside.

George leaned casually on the bar, his hands at his sides, and gazed at Raoul for the passing of several moments. He tried for a third time: "What happened to you?"

Raoul groaned and dropped his head into his hands. A dull pounding had appeared in the back of the skull and was steadily increasing. "She betrayed me," he answered, his voice muffled by his arms. George had to lean in close to hear what Raoul said. The knight continued, "She was with him, and they both turned on me."

George was thoroughly confused, but he reminded himself that his friend was drunk and therefore not thinking very clearly. "Who was with who?" he asked, but Raoul had already moved on in his thoughts. His eyes flashed in the light from a nearby candle.

"I hate her, that bitch," he spat. His voice rose slightly. "After all I did for her, and one day she decides she doesn't love me!" He shoved his massive body up from the barstool, though he was visibly trembling. "How could she do this to me?"

George laid a hand on the bigger man's shoulder. "Now, calm down here. You can fix things up with yer lass soon enough, but first –"

Raoul shrugged off George's hand and turned to face him. His usually ruddy face was redder than usual, and his eyes gleamed dangerously. "She's mine. Never his. She's mine, do you hear me?" He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. Gods, he needed another drink, just one more to wash away the pain and the horrible urge to break down sobbing. He shut his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath, feeling fiery pain course through his lungs. The pain gave him greater resolve, and he opened his eyes again.

"Yes, I hear you," George hastily replied, "but this is not the time or place to resolve things. Especially when you're like this. Listen to my advice, Raoul – go back to the palace and sleep off this hangover."

Raoul wasn't even looking at George as he mumbled, "Fine." He managed to stand on his own, but he wobbled on his way to the door. George trailed closely behind, ready to catch Raoul if he were to drop dead drunk.

A sudden thought occurred to George, and he said, "Perhaps I should go with you, to the palace –"

"No," Raoul interrupted him with a growl. "I'll go by myself." George was lucky enough to recognize the tone of Raoul's voice, and he nodded and gave the big man his space. Raoul forgot to retrieve his coat and stepped outside into the cold air. The chilly wind and tiny snowflakes that began to gather on his arms temporarily refreshed him, but soon the heavy, searing weight of drunkenness settled upon him again, filling his head with only one thought.

Oh, he was going back to the palace all right. That was where he would meet Anara and show her what a mistake it was to betray the man who had loved her.

-=-=-=-=-

Sir Gareth of Naxen – also known as Gareth the Younger – paused in his deskwork as he heard lumbering footsteps in the hallway outside. It heartened him, a little, to know that he wasn't the only one still up at this ghastly hour. He had been forced to finish signing a document by the next morning, and the recent coronation had left him with little time in which to do it. Gary hated it when work kept him away from his wife, but in the life of a desk knight, not to mention the new King's counselor, things were much more complicated than when he and his friends had been first-year knights.

__

Those were the days, weren't they? Gary thought with a nostalgic sigh. A smile not unlike his father's tugged at the corners of his mouth then, and he allowed himself a small chuckle at the fact that he was already reminiscing about the "good old days." What would Jon, or Alanna, or Raoul say to that? 

The footfalls passed by his doorway, and, his curiosity piqued, Gary left the pile of papers to inspect who was slowly walking – dragging his feet, really – down the hallway.

Gary opened the door to his office and stopped short, surprised to see Raoul standing outside his office. Gary's best friend had deep lines of weariness etched into his face, and he suddenly looked much older than he should be. His eyes, however, were filled with black rage that Gary had never seen before. The big knight's clothes were drenched with perspiration, and he should have been cold because outside it was snowing, but Raoul didn't look in the least bit uncomfortable. He looked, rather, like a man who had left his world behind for another, bleaker existence.

"Raoul, are you all right?" Gary asked quietly, taking a cautious step toward his friend. Raoul flinched and seemed to return to reality, but his eyes were still clouded. Gary rephrased the question in the hopes of a response: "What is wrong?"

Raoul licked his lips, but it was several long moments before he spoke. "Anara," was all he said, but the one word was spoken with such fiery distaste that it seemed to melt the snow gathered on Raoul's shirt.

Gary frowned. Of course he knew about Raoul's sweetheart and supposedly betrothed – he, Alanna, and Jon all knew, not to mention more than half of Court – but he had no idea of what she had to do with the present situation. Gary took a step closer to Raoul and was immediately bombarded with a huge wave of stink. "You're drunk," he observed mildly, forcing himself to take small, shallow breaths through his mouth.

Raoul's apathetic demeanor evaporated and was quickly replaced with sudden and uncharacteristic anger. "What's it to you?"

"Raoul," Gary started, "whatever happened, why don't you tell me –"

"I'm tired of talking," Raoul growled. He couldn't have cared about what Gary would say to him, or what message George had tried to get across. All he wanted was pure, simple revenge. "Get out of my way." To add to his statement, he shoved Gary aside. The brown-haired man hit the wall hard, wincing as his back struck the sharp edge of the stone.

He quickly propelled himself back into Raoul's path and held up his hands to show that he wasn't trying to fight. "Raoul, you're in no shape to be walking around. Get some rest. We all haven't been sleeping lately, and you definitely need it."

"I said, _no_," Raoul repeated, more forcefully this time. His hands shot out and twisted themselves in Gary's shirt. Raoul then flung his friend against the wall and kept going, toward his original destination.

Gary was able to get up from his fall, but he didn't go after Raoul. While they were the closest in size, Gary hadn't been commanding the King's Own, and he wasn't as muscled as his friend; in a fight, Gary knew who the loser would be. Instead, he bolted for the guest rooms, where Alanna was supposed to be staying, as Raoul slowly headed for the same wing of the palace.

__

There goes another boring night of paperwork, Gary thought, strangely wry.

-=-=-=-=-

The guest wing of the palace. Raoul could easily remember the many times he'd sneaked here to meet with Anara in secret. They'd giggled and stolen kisses in dark corners. Soon Raoul was spending entire nights in Anara's room, and she in his. They were inseparable as sweethearts; when betrothed, they had continued to have their secret meetings, if only to stir up a breathless laugh before embracing happily.

But the sweet, happy memories were marred by one dark, unbelievable nightmare come true. Only that afternoon, Raoul had sneaked to Anara's room, bearing her favorite type of flower, only to find her locked in an embrace with another man. At first Raoul hadn't known if he should believe this horrible sight; he had wondered if he had dreamt it. It soon became clear to him that what he saw before him was the truth, and it had been going on for some time after he had proposed to Anara.

Raoul wasn't entirely sure of what had happened after he had found Anara with her secret lover. His memories were a dark haze filled with indescribable hatred and rage. He remembered things being thrown around before he'd stomped out. He'd run through the wet streets of Corus until he'd found the Dancing Dove and the only true friends he could find.

Strangely enough, his heart thudded painfully in his chest as Raoul stepped up to the door. He clenched his hand into a fist to still the shaking and rapped on the door, three times. After two moments' passing he became impatient and knocked a few more times. Finally, the wooden door slowly opened, and a vision from his dreams stood before him.

Gods, she was lovely, with her honey-colored hair, bright eyes, and petite, perfectly curved body. Raoul had memorized every inch of her, yet every time they were together he learned a new thing about Anara of Tameran.

The newest thing was that she loved another man besides him.

"Hello, how can I help –" Her sweet, bubbly voice faltered, and her eyes grew wide as she recognized him. Her entire expression darkened, and she suddenly clutched the doorframe for support. Her lips moved, and for a moment no sound emerged. Finally, she whispered, "Raoul?"

He enjoyed her fear. Anara had plunged a sharp dagger into his heart, and even now she continued to twist it. It was time she felt just a little bit of what he'd experienced in the last five hours. "Ana," he said, and Anara's eyes grew wider at the eerily calm tone in his voice.

Raoul spoke slowly and calmly. "You hurt me, and it's not right that you shouldn't experience a punishment for breaking my heart." His rage simmered beneath his calm exterior, for the moment. The terror on Anara's face was enough for him, right now.

Anara tried to take control of the situation. "Raoul, we have to talk," she began, her eyes flicking up to his then quickly darting away. She could easily tell that he was drunk and would be entirely unable to listen to reason, but she also knew that in this state, he might do something he'd later regret – and she was afraid.

"Why don't you let me come inside?" Raoul suggested in a low, strangely emotionless voice, pushing forward before Anara could respond. She found herself squeezed between his body and the wall, with his warm, stinking breath wafting into her face and making her gag. Her heart beat rapidly, thundering in her ears, and she searched around for something with which to protect herself. Oblivious to her growing terror – or perhaps enjoying it – Raoul pressed her more tightly against the wall. Anara visibly gulped, and his eyes flared dangerously.

"What's wrong?" he taunted quietly. "Do you not like being this close to me anymore? I thought we loved each other; we had promised ourselves to one another. At least, _I_ had; now I have no idea what you were feeling when you accepted my proposal. Were you thinking about him when I gave you that ring?" Anara trembled against his large form, unable to answer his question. Suddenly tired of her hesitation, Raoul grabbed her by the hair and yanked her sharply, causing her to gasp. "Well? _Were you_?"

The man in question entered the room just then, and he stopped in his tracks when he saw his beloved threatened by her old lover. He hesitated for a moment at the sight of the large knight, but he quickly steeled himself and strode forward. "Take your hands off her," he snarled.

Raoul's head snapped around at the other man's voice, and his eyes narrowed. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"This." The man drew back his fist and punched Raoul in the jaw. Normally, this wouldn't have affected him in the least; in his present, inebriated state, however, he was much less coordinated. He stumbled back several feet, releasing his grip on Anara. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, she hurried behind a door and watched with wide eyes as her new lover advanced on her old flame, who showed no signs of backing down. Fists flew, and soon the two men were crashing against the walls, grunting and scoring hits whenever they could.

Raoul would have fought a hundred men like this, for Anara's love. He truly wanted to be with her for the rest of his life; he had been ready to commit himself, body and soul, to her.

__

But she doesn't love me, he thought as his head was smashed against the wall. Raoul knew this, now, as he fought another man who she clearly preferred over him. The searing anger flickered and threatened to extinguish itself, but Raoul struggled to keep it burning throughout his body. If the anger left him, he would have nothing. This was the one thing he could still cling to; a lust for vengeance was all he had left.

Feeling strangely refreshed, Raoul swung at his rival and effectively knocked the man against the wall before turning back to the cowering Anara. She shrieked and tried to stand up and run, but her legs refused to move. Raoul advanced slowly, and she saw his huge hands tighten into fists.

"I never should have believed you," he hissed, his eyes like smoldering coals. "You played me like a fool – _bitch_." He spat, and Anara flinched in fear. Raoul's hand shot out and wrapped around her arm, forcefully tugging her toward him. She turned her head away as he continued to fling insults at her. Her body shook, and silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You never answered me," Raoul growled, twisting her arm. Anara let out a pained whimper and struggled to free herself from his vise-like grip, but Raoul twisted harder, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. He relaxed his grip, and Anara slipped and fell to the floor. She curled up defensively as he towered over her, one huge hand raised above his head as if to strike her. 

Anara looked up at him; she was still indescribably beautiful, even with a red, tearstained face. "It's the d-d-drinking," she rasped through trembling lips. "After you – proposed – you were spending m-m-more time in bars getting d-d-drunk! That's why I found someone else – I had to find someone who loved me."

"I loved you – I still do," Raoul growled, making as if to hit her. Anara cringed away, but he didn't finish what he had started. He paused in his angry persecution of his lover, feeling his chest tighten with fury.

It was the awful truth. Instead of drawing them closer together, the proposal had somehow separated them, and Raoul had wandered to taverns and tasted alcohol. Its solace had been its snare, and he had become trapped in its deadly grasp without realizing it. Now the cursed drink had ruined all that he loved.

"No," he whispered, blinking as his mind struggled to work through the blurry disbelief. "No!" he roared, but it only made Anara shake her head and continue to sob.

"Raoul!" Jonathan's commanding tone, holding a regal air since they were thirteen-year-old pages, cut through his haze of rage and confusion. Raoul whirled around, his hand still raised, and saw that the new king stood in the door of Anara's room, accompanied by Gary, Alanna, and Buri.

Jon winced at the pain he saw in Raoul's eyes as they swept over each of his friends, barely acknowledging them in his clouded mind. Raoul began to back away from them; his hand drifted to his side, to ready himself for hand-to-hand fighting, if it came to that.

"Do it now," Jon ordered tersely. He and Gary leapt forward and shoved Raoul against the wall. The larger man flailed and cursed at them, but they firmly kept him pressed against the wall, until his struggles subsided.

Alanna and Buri slipped past them. Buri knelt by the unconscious man while the Lioness roughly hauled Anara up from the floor, barely acknowledging her twisted arm.

"It would be in your best interests if we never heard from you again," Alanna coolly informed the petite woman. Her entire body trembling, Anara nodded and tripped over the floor to revive her lover. She hurriedly began to pack up her things, shamefully averting her eyes from the man she had betrayed. Buri and Alanna all but threw the other man out of the room, and Anara followed.

"No! Stop her!" Raoul shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. "Don't let her get away –" He slumped heavily against the wall and shut his eyes tightly. His features contracted painfully, and for a moment it was as if the firm grip on his emotions had broken, and his pain trickled through. "She's going to leave forever," he whispered, and his hoarse voice caught on a sob. He shuddered and sniffled, struggling to hold back his grief. Gary and Jon cautiously released him, and Raoul raised his hands to his face. This was finally it. He had confronted Anara, and she had chosen the path that led far, far away from him. He would never see her again.

Buri and Alanna traded silent glances. Buri had only recently become acquainted with Raoul, and they had hit it off from the start. But this loss of control had scared her to the core of her being. Alanna, on the other hand, had known Raoul for nearly half her life. Seeing him break down into such emotion affected her deeply; it scored a new slash over the break in her heart when Thom had died. She knew she couldn't handle losing another dear friend.

Gary was the first to speak. "Raoul . . . why don't we get you back to your room? You're not well." Sweating, red-faced, and stained with alcohol, Raoul was a positive mess. Dumbly, he nodded and trudged along behind the others as Jon led the way out of Anara's rooms.

They took a road through used only by messengers, so no one would see them. At one point, Raoul stumbled away from them; Gary and Jon hovered nearby, in case he were to race back toward Anara's rooms. But he shoved them aside and fell to his knees by the side of the road. He doubled over and retched noisily for several minutes; when his stomach was empty, he was left coughing and with a throbbing headache. 

The others gently lifted him to his feet and deposited him in his room. Afraid that he would try anything else, they magicked the lock on his door and left him to his own dark ponderings.

For the next, dragging hours, his actions returned to haunt him, and he shuddered as he recalled how he had hurt those he loved; he had raised a fist against Gary, one of his best friends from childhood. Most of all, the pained look on Anara's face seared into his memory, and Raoul felt physically ill as he recalled easily twisting her arm roughly, and the fear in her eyes. 

As Raoul found later that night, as the black sky lightened into dawn, he wasn't finished vomiting. He'd experienced awful hangovers, but the one he was left with the next morning was monstrous. It was some time before he dared emerge from his rooms. When he did face Tortall again – at least a third of the people knew of what had occurred between him and Anara, yet they were wise enough not to gossip in his company – he kept his emotions carefully controlled and spoke about the matter with no one but his closest friends; even then, discussions were few and short-lived.

-=-=-=-=-

"Hey," Buri quietly greeted Raoul as he joined her by the Rider barracks. She held out a mug of cider that Raoul gratefully accepted. "To your health," Buri said before she drank; Raoul murmured the same.

Aware of Buri's eyes on him, Raoul took a sip of the steaming liquid and allowed it to work its way down his throat and into his belly. Only a short time ago, he remembered feeling the acidic burn of liquor, but since that terrible night of betrayal and rage he hadn't let another drop pass his lips. It had been a tough fight, but for almost a month he had been sober, and there was no way he would revert back to the shaking, torn-up mess he had been before.

Buri was still watching him with concern. "Don't worry," Raoul suddenly murmured, startling her. "I'm not going to go crazy on you again." The simmering bitterness and self-loathing were evident in his voice.

"Oh, Raoul," she whispered, at a loss of what else to say. Finally, she was able to give a somewhat suitable reply. "I believe you."

Raoul barked a harsh laugh without looking at her. "Seems you're the only one. The others, Jon and Gary – even Alanna – seem to be afraid of me."

"I never said I wasn't." Raoul whipped his head around to stare at her, and his eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "You scared us all, Raoul," Buri went on, "and it may take a little while for things to settle down again. But you have all of us – and we're not going to betray you," she finished, coming straight to the point she knew was bothering him. She wasn't sure how she had figured that out, but a shadow passed over Raoul's face when she said it, and she knew that she had hit the sore spot.

After several moments of tense silence, his shoulders slumped, as if all of his energy had fled his body. "You're right," he conceded softly. What she had said, surprisingly, had made him feel slightly better. He raised his head to give her a small smile. "You know, I see the start of a beautiful friendship here."

Buri smiled back. "Me too," she admitted, surprised that she had found a friend this quickly but very pleased that it had happened. She turned her attention to the festival beyond them as she sipped the rest of her cider. Because she had just come to Corus with Thayet, she didn't know any men well enough to have a sweetheart to spend the holidays with, but it didn't bother her. She knew, however, that Raoul and Anara would have celebrated Midwinter together, as a betrothed couple. The holidays hadn't helped to dull the pain in his heart over losing his beloved; Buri felt a surge of sympathy and wished that she could make him feel better.

Watching his drawn face, Buri sighed. After several long moments of silence stretched between them, she decided to speak again. "You know what a Doi tribeswoman once told me?" she asked quietly, and Raoul's eyes flicked up to hers, showing the first real interest in some time.

Buri gently curled her fingers around his huge hand. "She told me that love would be a long time in coming, but that it would be the greatest I've ever known. That could happen for you too, Raoul." He sighed and glanced away, but Buri continued. "You'll find it again, in another woman you can love and cherish, for all of your lifetime." She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Raoul appreciated her gesture of kindness, but he wasn't sure he entirely believed it. To make Buri happy, he muttered, "Thank you" though she could tell how insincere he really was.

They continued to watch the couples dancing around the bonfires. Raoul turned Buri's words over in his mind, and he looked again at the brightly-colored celebration before them. He shut his eyes tightly as a fresh wave of grief nearly overwhelmed him, but after a few moments he opened his eyes, aware that Buri was again watching him combat his memories. The New Year was fast approaching; it was a time for new beginnings. There was no better way to extinguish his past affections and move on with his life.

He looked at Buri again. "Buri – thank you," he said quietly.

She smiled gracefully. "You're welcome, Raoul." She squeezed his hand again, then let go.

The Midwinter festival ended, and the people of Tortall continued with their daily lives. The months passed quickly, and soon they added up into years; each one seemed to go by faster than the last. Raoul's heart healed, but he still bore a scar from the woman he had loved with all of his being. As time wore on and they all matured and new people and new places were introduced into their lives, Raoul began to think that maybe Buri was right.

-=-=-=-=-


End file.
